


Pasta Surprise

by Aithilin



Series: Festive Food Fluffs [13]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 01:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15522756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Nyx was not prepared for the Lucis Caelum family recipe when he was invited over to a nice, quiet dinner.





	Pasta Surprise

Lucian food, for all it’s impressive presentations and complicated recipes, was boring. For all the mixes and sauces and attempts at mimicking the variety of spices from regions within the kingdom, the food of the Crown City fell flat and bland and unimpressive. Nyx didn’t even think that was an opinion anymore, it was just a fact of Eos. When given the opportunity to go out for a delicate Lucian delicacy, he accepted only on the promise that he could select the dessert. And after a lifetime of flavours and spices— the heat of Galahdian cuisine burning through him— the understated delicacies of his adopted home may as well be nonexistent. 

Lucian food was the wet blanket of his culinary experiences. 

He had been to enough dinners and diners and strange restaurants with Noctis to know that the wide variety of Lucian food the prince was actually fond of wasn’t actually very varied. He had sat through pastas that needed more than just garlic and pepper to liven up— wishing for the wealth of noodles he remembered from home; he had missed the spices haphazardly dissolved in with the salt, the bases for the sauce steaming in pots as half-cooked rice noodles— light and nearly translucent— were carefully stirred in to finish. The fish all lacked a kick to balance out the flakey texture— Nyx had tried to enjoy the subtleties of both the sushi Noctis loved and the delicate dishes conjured up by Ignis, but the lightness of the favoured fish had left him missing the hidden kicks of curry and chilies and rich peppers to liven things up with the flakey whitefish the Lucians favoured. There had been hints, here and there, of a real meal buried somewhere in the way rich meats were smoked and the marinades meant to imitate other cuisines; of depth well below the standard flares and flashes and very pretty plates presented when out and about with a prince.

But Nyx had grown up with a real variety— a small world of spice and flavours, the richness of the islands and the variety of the ocean— that made it seem like the Lucians weren’t even really trying. Like they had given up on identifying a cultural necessity somewhere between building the great city that housed the seat of their monarchy, and serving as a beacon of peaceful hope to contrast the bleak Niflheim machine. 

Weekend dishes at home filled the house with the heavy wealth of blended spices and old concoctions passed through families like magic spells. The air heavy with the bite of heat to ward off the cold coastal nights and the dark forest airs. The wisps of crisp, fresh, forest greens plucked from the garden and displayed at the window both dried and replanted in the shallow boxes cobbled together from scraps, coiled around the open kitchen like a promise of only the best ingredients could enter the home. Crushed and plucked leaves having left his hands smelling like grasses and stained while he watched his mother prepare her magic. 

His mother, the night before, would take out her old book and assemble her ingredients with a soft sort of muttering about idiot aunts and ingenious grandmothers as she carefully sniffed and felt her way through the considerable collection of herbs— fresh and dried, cut and minced— and spices— gathered from across Eos and collected into the weekly markets, stored lovingly and carefully with the clear labels in neat handwriting. Nyx remembered watching her work throughout his childhood, as she added a pinch of chilli to eggs in the morning, and folded in a wealth of mushrooms and onions and peppers with each breakfast before he or Selena could complain. He remembered nights where only the “simple” dishes could be made— fillets and thick breads, doused in heavy cream sauces to keep them warm as the winter winds whipped at the town from both mountains and ocean. 

And when he adopted Insomnia as his home for a time, he had hoped to bring home new dishes and tricks to impress his mother one day. 

“Lucian food,” his mother declared the night before he left— a meal of spiced crabs settled on colourful salad light enough to work with his nerves rather than fill his stomach with something heavy on his crossing from the island; “is bland and beige. You’ll do well to show them a trick or two.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Ma,” Nyx had said with a grin that night, lips stinging with the familiar burn of his mother’s secret spices. “They managed this long.”

“Six knows how.”

He had laughed then, he remembered, and assumed that it had just been the judgment of a mother who couldn’t bring herself to trust strangers to feed her son. He laughed now when he thought back on the same exchange, and the subsequent reassurances with each check-in his mother called him for, but for a different reason. Now he laughed as his mother urged him to find some alternative to what the military considered “food” and to what passed for Galahdian street food the further from the district hearts he got. Now he laughed as he sent pictures of his Lucian meals to Selena for her reactions, her horror and confusion felt in waves across the waters that separated them as she made him promise to feed his prince some real food. 

And now Noctis had invited him to dinner. A proper dinner, the prince had promised, at his quiet apartment made in his poorly stocked kitchen. 

Nyx assumed it was poorly stocked, in any case. The same six or seven spices had never really changed in the months Nyx had poked around the modern little setup. The staples tucked away in sterile cupboards and fridge where rarely spread out across the countertops, or changed or replaced. Rice would change regularly, but flour and sugar could last far too long for Nyx’s liking. Vegetables were all the basic elements— carrots, peas, broccoli— that could be pulled and prepared with a few quick movements of a knife. And blanched of all real vibrant colour. 

He wondered what sort of dish could possibly be made in a kitchen like that. 

The wine was a white from Galahd, he had been told the dinner was a pasta and fish. And he wanted something rich to bring to balance out the Lucian lack of flavours. 

“Just set it anywhere, if you please.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

When Nyx was invited to dinner, Noctis had failed to mention that it would be the king himself who would be standing in the little kitchen, sleeves rolled up as a pot boiled on the stove. Looking for all the world like he should have an apron tied on as he commanded the kitchen, Regis simply offered a fatherly smile in the face of his shock.

“None of that, Ulric. And no peeking,” Regis pinched a bit of salt to add to the water; “This is a family recipe.”

There was no book propped up by jars— stained pages holding the secrets and experiments of generations— like back home. There was no chaotic spread of spices and vegetables across each available surface, scraps swept aside to make room for cutting boards and pots. There was no heady, heavy promise of something vibrant or living to be plated and presented, or breath of heated air that sent them absently opening windows as recipes and rations were tweaked for the season and diners. 

Instead there was a father, standing at the stove as he picked through the small collection of standard Lucian ingredients. His son at his side, carefully dividing yellow and green sweet peppers with a look of concentration Nyx had only ever seen on the training fields before. The soft gurgle of the boiling water and the steady beat of the knife against the cutting board the only noise between them as they worked on the dish that must have been passed down some how. That must have been written out somewhere. 

The steam clouded around them as a pasta was dropped into the pot, and twin glances were thrown over shoulders at him as family secrets where carefully shielded from view. It would have been adorable, if not so unnerving. If not so intriguing at how well the two worked in tandem once the same goal was determined between them. 

Nyx busied himself with the table and place settings, amused to think that his mother would have been scolding him for not finding some sort of special china and silverware for the king. Despite the dinner being held at the prince’s apartment. 

With little glances here and there, Nyx spotted a sauce— rich and creamy and blanched— and a salad— small and delicate, and the only splash of colour spotted in the whole mix. Before Noctis was sent over to banish him to some new corner of the apartment, to keep him from gleaning any new information of their secrets. 

When it was deemed safe for him to return to the living room— to the little table set with the surprisingly modest cutlery and tableware Noctis even owned— Regis was already getting settled in his chosen seat. Cane propped against the nearest wall, the king seemed content to leave the last minute happenings to his son. 

“It’s a family recipe,” Regis said once Nyx was shooed away from helping more than opening the wine; “and one of Noctis’ childhood favourites.”

“He doesn’t need to hear that,” Noctis carried the plates over while Nyx watched. 

It was a rare thing to see the king and prince so at ease together. When he had stepped through the door, they had been working together in the narrow space of the kitchen, before he was banished from the sight of the workspace they had been moving around each other as if these little dinners were a common tradition. As if they had spent years perfecting these little meals together, regardless of the outcome. Logically, Nyx knew that wasn’t possible. They weren’t a normal family, they didn’t chase after ingredients or flavours like his used to. They didn’t have holidays spent over stoves and watching ovens, measuring out the perfect ratios and blends needed to complete a dish to complement the season. Or spring meals scraped together through dwindling winter supplies, where off the cuff creativity was key.

Logically, Nyx knew that the Shields were around the building somewhere. That a security detail was likely posted at every blind spot and corner within a six block radius. Even off duty and invited as a guest, Nyx found it hard to shake the shock and scope of planning that must have surrounded this little dinner that Noctis had passed off as a whim.

“I think I want to hear it, little prince,” Nyx grinned as Regis did. As Noctis rolled his eyes and set the last of the dishes down. 

Lucian food, for all Nyx had experienced, was bland. But usually visually interesting. At least in some manner or another— the catch of colours, the promise of hearty meat, at least a sprinkling of something or a drizzle of jus. There was always a simple fare of protein, starch, and vegetable, but presentation had always been the Lucian staple. Most food he had come across by virtue of exposure to Noctis had at least something interesting about it.

Looking at the bowl in front of him, Nyx was glad he had prepared and practiced his polite statements of surprise and delight. 

Pasta and a cheese sauce was not an unusual childhood favourite. And the dish before him— pallid and lumpy— was almost what Nyx would have expected from a family that had employed the best chefs in Eos for generations. The shine of the sauce was expertly done, no doubt mixed and blended to a velvety perfection while the pasta cooked in unseasoned waters. The peppers that Noctis had been chopping peeked through the blanket of sauce here and there, suggesting a childhood trick to get a picky eater to at least taste some vegetable by accident. There was a delicate salad edged in place at the side of the serving plat, just a small pile of green drizzled with some clear dressing and sprinkled with crumbled hard cheese. 

As the meal started, and Nyx steeled himself to lie to his king and prince. He ran through the statements he had prepared, and plotted his escape through conversation about something or other that had gripped the Citadel in rumours and speculation. He barely looked at his first bite as he planned his careful tactics to escape commenting on Lucian meals. 

And then it hit him. 

The sauce was velvety as he expected; a heavy cream and cheese concoction with just a hint of spice from the Leiden selections Nyx had learnt to work with. There was a bite to the first taste, complemented rather than overwhelmed by the smooth cream of the sauce. The pasta had not been boiled in unseasoned water as he expected— the touch of salt almost lost in the cheese, and he suspected that the main starch of the dish finished cooking in the sauce itself, having become part of the smooth, rich texture. 

He hadn’t seen the fish at first. Not on a first glance or when he was banished and on his way to the secluded bedrooms to wait in amusement. He hadn’t seen any dishes of marinated, buttery lobster in Noctis’ fridge the day before when he had slipped in for a visit and the invitation was expected. But it was here, now. A delightful burst of flavour and solid texture in his first mouthful, topped with an easily missed sprinkling of something crunchy to top it off.

Looking down at the dish before him, he spotted the variety now. 

The lobster spread in generous portions across the dish, with far less pasta than he first thought— the twists of shell pasta offering a camouflage to the fish. The steam, once trapped by the blanket of sauce, carried the scent of warmth of the meal up to him. It mingled with the easy tone of the meal to offer all the nostalgic comforts of warm creams on cold afternoons.

“The peppers,” Regis confirmed, a smile gracing the king’a features as he broke through Nyx’s surprise; “were the only vegetables Noctis would eat for years.”

“Dad!”

Nyx could imagine it now, the prince too small for the large chairs and too sweet for the stern guards overseeing the meal. He could imagine Ignis seated with him, a precocious force of childhood knowledge and royal routine, invited into the shared meals between father and son. He could picture Regis, still harried and hounded by his duties and council, insisting on these quiet meals with vegetables snuck in. 

He wondered if the king had cooked this meal for the prince back then as well. If he had trusted anyone else with it. If there was a chef somewhere in the depths of the Citadel who expected to leave his workstation to the mercies of the king every few months.

“It's amazing,” Nyx said after another bite, able to focus now on the way the easy, smooth flavours wrapped around him like a blanket. 

And another that let him taste the richness of the cream, the bite of the cheese, the smooth flavour of the lobster that must have marinated for days to reach the perfect texture that it was now. 

“The cheese is from Leide,” Noctis offered, smug smile firmly in place. “And the lobster from Caem instead of Galdin.”

Most restaurants boasted their fish sourced from Galdin Quay, most shops named the rivers and lakes where the more expensive cuts could be sourced by hand. Caem— the rocky, secluded coast that it was— had never featured on that list, and Nyx wondered what other secrets were stored at the old vacation home of kings overlooking the quiet tide pools and high tides. 

“The milk and creams were sourced from the farms in Duscae and Cleigne,” Regis offered, and Nyx realized after a moment that he had barely let himself pause between bites.

He had passed the farms plenty of times before and missed his home. At the time, he had missed the lumbering beasts grazing in the fields and groves outside of his hometown— so much smaller than the sprawling Lucian fields.

There was nothing bland in the soft crunch of the peppers, dousing the bite from the spices cheese and the seasoned pasta. There was nothing dull in the rich sauce, or ingredients gathered from across the kingdom. And Nyx wondered just what else these two would put together if they had a mind to. 

And he had nearly wolfed down his helping while they had settled into a sense of smug satisfaction. Nyx couldn’t be bothered to care that they both looked as if there was a bet riding on this meal and his enjoyment, or that he had barely paused before half the serving was gone and he focused on the crisp arugula of the salad to pace himself.

Nyx cared that Noctis was smiling— a blush light on his cheeks as his father teased him over some Citadel faux pas that had already been smoothed over in the week. He cared that Regis was here, sitting at the head of the small table, the finery and power of station and status abandoned to the quiet meal. 

He thought back to the family meals in Galahd, and grinned; “when my mom visits, you need to make this for her.”


End file.
